Everything Before Tomorrow
by Jat0unit
Summary: Decades after the death of Harry Potter, the muggle world has brought about a wizard genocide. Out of a stronghold in Britain, the Black, Malfoy,and Potter legacy gather the magical world to strike back. Perhaps I'll switch to M later.
1. Chapter 1

_Lane Fenwick_

A tawny girl hunched over the test on her desk, scrawling her name. Her razor-sharp nose was only an inch or so away from the paper. Deep breath. Wide mouth screwed up in what appeared to be concentration, she glared down at the first question.

**When were the wizards driven out of North America?**

She looked up, a bead of sweat gathering at her temple. All around her she heard the scratching of pencils. Chewing on the least decimated nail of her left hand, she turned her eyes back down to the paper. _It's ok_, she told herself, _second question. I can come back to that one_. It wasn't that she hadn't studied for this test. She usually kept up with the news outside of the curriculum requirements. It was, for the most part, that the material was putting her far more on edge than she had ever expected.

**Who was Scorpius Malfoy? Answer in full sentences. Include in your answer a) when he died, b) for what is he most famous.**

_I don't know. I just don't know._

All around her were rows of plastic beige desks, a student hunkered over a test on each one. Everyone wore similar teal blazers with the Hawksi Prep Academy patch sewn on the left lapel. It was standard fare for all students. At one point in the past the boarding school had been rich enough to coordinate a full set of uniforms for its students. Nowadays though, with many material industries tied up in war efforts, the only garb linking the students were those blasted blazers. Fenwick winced under the glare of artificially bright lights and the judging gaze of a graying teacher staring her down from two rows up.

"It would do to keep your eyes on your own page, Ms. Fenwick. I trust you've studied enough, seeing as you've known this test was coming for two weeks now. This current events class is honors level, and I expect honorable behavior from every student in here."

Ms. Cross's voice, as always, sounded pained in its shrill tones. Lane theorized it was either the tightness of her bun, or perhaps the maintenance of her rather permanent grimace, that gave her that sound. Jittery with test anxiety, Lane flicked her eyes back down to her paper obediently. There were damp marks on the edges of her test, where her sweaty hands had left a bit of an imprint. In a bit of a panic, she began to flip the pages, running her eyes over each of the questions. Her brain picked up on bits and pieces, words and names.

**The Exclusion Act…ethical dilemma…Huffinger's Rebellion...media hype…Phenotype...outsiders…Search and Seizure Amendment….Containment Law…the last of the dragons… Extermination of—**

Her pencil, which she had been gripping tightly in one slippery hand, snapped. Her mouth and throat where dry. Drawing in a raspy breath, Lane stood up from her desk.

"I-I…I'll just. Water." She managed to stammer out, before sprinting for the door.

Her feet brought her quickly to her dormitory. The room was a rosy wood, insulated with thick red curtains and carpeting. Small but cozy, there was barely room to walk between the four beds and four dressers. They had one small mirror hammered into the wall to share, and that's where she made a beeline. Taking short shallow breaths, she stared at her reflection. With her wide grey eyes and whimsically tousled sunbleached chestnut hair, she looked nothing if not frazzled. Running her eyes across her face, she frantically searched for something that made her different. Something that gave it away. When she found nothing it took all her strength to keep her from smashing the glass.

Striding over to her dresser, she pulled open the first draw and groped around in the multitude of socks until her hands curled around a smooth, handle. Yanking the knife out, she placed her left hand out on the top of the dresser. She'd stolen it from the kitchen during chores last evening. Tears made her vision blurry, but she tried to steady her hand. It was her left hand that had caused a book to fall off the shelf in response to an absent gesture from her. It was the same hand she'd pointed, right before Mildred's skirts had caught fire. She was horrifying. Disgusting. An animal. And she knew she ought to cut it off.

If she cut it off now, perhaps the Inquisition wouldn't find her. She'd be safe and magic free. Care free.

The knife landed with a sickening thunk.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three Months Earlier_

At about two o'clock in the afternoon, a man just a hair's breadth under average height was strolling through England's own Camden. His near-black hair consisted of rich curls that were in dire need of a trim. This man, was also in need of a bit of a shave. Yet, despite his shorter stature and general state of disrepair, he caught far more attention then the taller blonde walking at his side. The two walked casually through the cobbled streets. The place reeked of garbage, gunpowder, and gasoline, as did many refugee camps.

It was when the Wizard-Muggle wars had first begun, that the signs of the Minister of Magics' traditional close ties to the Prime Ministers began to show. While Britain, under the pressures of the modern west, began to treat its wizards like second-class citizens, it never lowered itself to the out right extermination that was taking place in other parts of the world. Britain was a safe haven. Refugees were still pouring in.

Regulus Lestrange tossed his dark hair and sneered in a manner worthy of a Malfoy. His eyes had caught a mangy crowd gathered in a gritty alley. Grubby faces lifted upwards to catch a glimpse at a rather attractive man in rich purple robes standing up on a soapbox. The speaker was shouting. He'd chosen to forgo magical volume enhancement in favor of a passionate, ferverish strain to enrich his baritone.

"It looks like our friend Willard Lockhart has gathered himself quite a following. What do you think? Should we be nervous, Moody?" Regulus crooned in a sarcastic lilt to his companion

"Get off your high horse. You laugh at these neo-Death Eaters now, but you do realize the movement has practically tripled this past month? Never underestimate how attractive mindless hatred can be to people who are scared and tired." Moody rolled his grey eyes as Regulus smirked at him. "Idiots are dangerous in packs. It's not really politics anymore when mobs get involved."

"My, my...you certainly are a bit paranoid. Despite your misgivings about our party's strength I, for one, believe we are on firm ground. Given my family history, the warmongering pure bloods that will prove most useful to us in this war practically wag their tails each time I come calling. To them I represent the elegance of Voldemort's elite, without all the rabble's mess of the neo-Death Eaters." Regulus' voice had become quiet as the two walked past the alley's mouth and further into the refugee camp.

"Careful, Reg."

"Don't give me that look. I've never forgotten what Voldemort truly was. Oh sure, now that the muggle world has turned against us, people are just itching to put his face on a t-shirt. But I never forgot that he was just as much of a fool for power as the rest of us. Do you honestly believe he really meant one word of his anti-muggle propoganda? Lies. All of it. It's always easier to get a following when playing on a deep rooted prejudice." Regulus finished up.

The two of them gingerly crept through the streets, sidestepping people sleeping in their path and tip-toeing over streams of unidentifyable fluids that were running in between the cobble stones. All around them there were hastily assembled magical tents that were looking grungier by the minute. Between every block was an outpost of Red Cross working in conjunction with St. Mungo's charity wing. It was easy to tell the fresh volunteers from the veterans. The newest good samaritans were chipper, with a pinch of fairy-god-mother energy in their steps. Their more practiced counter parts had begun to look drawn and grey.

After a quarter hour of travelling through darkening streets and bickering about international politics, Lestrange and Moody ducked into a small shoppe with a green and white striped awning. The place was a droll little thing that reeked of nostalgia and the good old days. Superimposed on the window's glass in gold and red lettering was "Ollerton". The dark green paint practically chipped off in Regulus' hand, as he pushed it open. Moody began to wipe his boots off on the welcome mat, before realizing the grime from the treads was practically making the mat's greeting unreadable.

The inside looked like a reformed toy shop. It was all shelves and cheerfully polished cherry wood display cases. The counter was even topped with a festively red cash register. The place looked like it had been closed for quite some time, however. Dusty white cloths lingered over the furninture, and curtains were drawn over all the glass. Whoever Ollerton was, he'd been out of business for quite a while...or preoccupied, as it were.

"Troy? Oy! Troy!" Moody called out as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter.

Regulus strode over to a sofa, and plopped himself down on in with as much stately dignity as he could muster. A puff of dust went up around him. With a bemused smile, he began to flip a spare galleon through the joints of his knuckles. Troy could rarely expected to be organized, or on time. But he was the best chance they had at getting the job done. Regulus immediately bolted upright as a crash came from the back of the room, snatching his coin from mid air. Troy emerged from the back room, looking rather singed.

Troy was a man of average height and stature. He had a full head, and closely clipped beard, of coppery curls. There were slight laugh creases at the corner of his blue eyes that he was surely too young for. In his arms were a stack of neatly assembled wooden boxes. He stumbled over to the counter. Some of the boxes on top slipped off the top of the pile, causing Moody to dart forward and catch them with a startled laugh.

"Whoa there, Troy. Easy." Moody said with an easy grin, helping him get the rest of the boxes onto the counter top

"Oh. Easy for _you_ to say. You don't have to make the fucking things." Troy groaned, brow crumpled by his frown

Regulus shot out of his chair and made a beeline for the counter. With nimble fingers he snatched up the closest box and whisked the top off. The inside of the box was lined with sawdust to keep the contents safe. Inside lay a thin, plain looking wand. He picked it up and began to swish it in the air.

"Doesn't look like much..." Moody professed, crossing his arms

"Doesn't feel like much, either" Regulus murmured as he flicked the prototype around a bit "Troy..." he said, his voice taking on a threatening tone "This isn't what we paid you for. We needed you to pull this off. It was our secret weapon. We were paying you to make-"

"I know, I know!" Troy said, throwing his hands up in exhasperation "But I can't do it. I just can't. My people made brooms, you hear me? Fucking brooms! It's a completely different talent!"

Regulus tossed the wand back into its box. Disgust and irritation crept across his face. "We need to get this fixed. Fast."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Some Reviews would be nice. If you read it, please drop me a line? If you can take the time to add it to favorites or sign it up for an alert, then you can spare time to write back. :)_

_Sorry this is a bit short. I'll update again later this week._

* * *

Sparrows hopped amidst the gravel. Their heads shot up and down as they fought over the remainders of a half eaten ham sandwhich. Lane lounged out in the sun, on the stone steps of Hawksi's front stairs. The standard teal blazer was balled up behind her, to cushion her back against Sphinx statue. Her eyes scanned across a note. The thin blue letters sloped lazily across the flowery stationary.

Hey Sweetie. Daddy and I are worried about you.

__Why don't you come home for a week or two?_

_______________________________xoxo Mom

As much as she loved her parents, Lane couldn't quite stand the thought of leaving school to spend weeks at home being interrogated. At least here keeping up with school work gave her an excuse to ditch appointments with the school counselor. It wasn't as if she could just tell people what had happened. The thought of getting sent to Hawaii made her sick. Once a place for shipping people with leprosy, it had become a "containment colony" for wizards. The island beauty that had drawn tourists from all over had gone long ago.

"What to say, what to say?" she murmured to herself, spinning her pencil in her right hand

Just as she was about to begin scrawling a letter back to her parents, the writing implement flew out of her hand. Before her eyes managed to track down where it had landed, she heard a crunch. The bottom of the staircase. Someone on the first step was gingerly stepping off the remains of her pencil.

"Oh....that was...unfortunate." the young man said, stooping to scoop up the splinters and chunks of lead. "Oh wait. That's stupid. You probably don't want that back." He tossed what was left of the pencil out into the driveway's gravel.

In moments he was bounding his way up, two steps at a time, in her direction. As young as he was, if she had anything to say about it, looked a tad to old to be a student here. Or, maybe that wasn't it at all. He seemed very out of place though. That was it. Perhaps it was the confidence of his movements, his ragged out-of-date clothing, or unkempt blonde hair. Something about him was off. She just didn't know what. Lane folded the note in two and hid it in the pages of her yellow pad of paper. It wasn't any of his business.

"I'm so sorry." he said cheerfully as he sat down a few steps above her. He placed his worn leather shoulder bag on a step and began to rummage around inside.

"You sound it." Lane sniped back.

"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine." he retorted, before offering a quill and container of ink.

How odd. The feather was a poof of soft, wine red that tapered into a gold metal point. There was dry blue ink on the tip, and the wooden handle showed lots of use. It looked as though stolen from some sort of theatre department.

"A quill?" she asked

"I have a taste for old, distinguished things." His reply was a bit slower, and he seemed almost caught of balance.

Lane raised her left hand. It was wrapped to the elbow in a bright blue cast. Fat spidery signatures in classic sharpie decorated its length. It was the cover her and her counselor had come up with. Broken wrist. So much more socially acceptable than a just-stitched-back-on looking wrist.

"I could barely use the pencil. There's no way I'm using that thing."

"Ouch. What happened?"

"Tripped on a cat."

"I see. Happens all the time. Dictate it to me. I'll write it for you."

"No way. That doesn't make it even. That just makes me feel like I should pay you for the favor, Mr...?"

"Arcturus Moody. And, speaking of names. I was recommended to attend here by my father, who's friends with a man whose child goes here. Know where I can find a student named Ollivander?"

"There aren't any Ollivanders here as far as I know. But ask around."

"I see..."

She would have missed the flash of confusion across his face if she hadn't been paying attention. It was the briefest of flashes. She was about to consider the implications of it when he reached forward and, pulled a coin out from behind her ear. She knew it was a cheezy sleight of hand trick that party magicians had done thousands of times of times in the past. Still, it hit her like a hammer. In an instant adrenaline was pouring through her body and he began to feel nauseus. Lane felt her face morph into something stony, or perhaps disgusted, even as she heard Arcturus say,"Pay me with this!" in his jovial tone. She jumped up, shaking slightly in the knees.

"You are _twisted_." she spat at him, before her fear jerked her up the stairs like a puppet.

_Did he know?_ She kept asking herself, as she strode into the girl's room. _No. He couldn't have. If someone knew, they would be taking me away right now. Do you think they'll use handcuffs? Or will they just come with a stun gun and a black bag?_ Lane did her best to crush that strain of thinking as she loaded up her palms with pink foam.

The bathroom was empty. It was a corny attempt at homey decoration. Everything was white-wash except for the wallpaper. That was covered in a pattern of small brown kittens tumbling with string against a lavender background. Lane washed her hands feverlishly. _Tainted._ She was unclean. _And no amount of soap or disinfectant is going to make that feeling go away._


	4. Chapter 4

Auothor's Note: Two things to note before you head off to Chapter 4! The first is that I've switched Amberlin Fenwick's name to Lane Fenwick. It was pointed out to me that it was a bit if a Mary Sue name, and I have to agree. The second, is that I'd appreciate it if you dropped me a line via review. :) Even just "hi" is good enough.

* * *

Regulus Lestrange's study was essentially a hovel. The place was lined with clutter. Books of various shapes and colors perched in stacks on every free surface. The slightest breeze caused free parchment all around the room to flutter, threatening to abandon their stacks to float down to the floor. A stately chestnut horned owl rested upon a particularly large pile off clutter. Near the carved lions feet at on the legs of the desk, a red little screech owl toddled about clumsily for a moment before finally taking flight. It clearly intended to join its nobler cousin atop Clutter Mountain. However, it misjudged its landing. As it scrabbled wildly for a foothold the entire stack of sheets slipped off of the counter and onto the floor. Regulus barely reacted to the reverberating crash. Instead, he leaned back in his dark red chair and put his feet up on the remaining clear space of his desk. In his hands was a note written on lined white muggle paper. Moody's handwriting looked odd without the embellishment of liberal ink usage that came with quills.

_Reggie,_

_I arrived at the school with no trouble. Except for freaking out a particularly bigoted girl with a joke (you remember, my coin from ear trick?). I am a little insulted that the best you could do is squeeze me in as a "student". Couldn't I at least have past for a teacher's assistant? Maybe? No, then? Ok. On to business. Are you absolutely sure that the last of the O. Lily-Vanderbilts are here? Of course, I've only just got here but I managed to swipe the register. There is no one here under that name. Get back to me soon! Hate this place. Can't wait to leave._

_~King Arthur_

Regulus smiled slightly as he picked out the meaning of the codenames. Reggie was clearly Regulus. King Arthur meant Arcturus. Less obviously but still rather transparet, O. Lily-Vanderbilts was Ollivanders. It was nice of him to try, but Moody was horrendous at being subtle. Hence the owl. The reddish feather ball, about the size of Regulus' fist, was snuggled up in a nest it had made out of the papers it knocked over earlier. He snorted. Moody, a commanding and charismatic figure in person, just adored utilizing such a ridiculous owl for his correspondences. With that thought, Regulus began to write back.

_King Arthur,_

_I am absolutely certain that your quest for the last Vanderbilt will be succesful. Upon recieving your inquiry I and my cohorts did some further investigating, and that school is the last place we can trace it to. Really, my dear King, we are so close. It's rather exciting, don't you think? Just find him and bring him back. Building pixie sticks without him is going badly._

_On the other hand your Tedward is getting on my nerves. He's knocked over all my research on the Troll Treaties and left me quite disgruntled._

_Your's in Service, Reggie._

With a last flourish to his signature, Regulus swung his legs down off his desk and strode over to a pile of mail. Regulus and Moody had decided that sending mail like a muggle to the school would be better than keeping up corresondence via owl. No point in blowing cover with such a careless detail as ingoing and outgoing owls.

It was only moments until a thin redhead with vibrant green eyes burst into the room. She had lengthy limbs that harkened back to her Weasley ancestry, but her face was most definately Potter. About her skinny form was a tastefully muted flower print dress.

"Audrey. Don't you ever knock?" Regulus groaned and put his head in his hands as she pranced over to the windows and jerked open the heavy curtains to let light flood the room.

"Sorry, Mr. Lestrange" she said and looked up at him with her doe-like eyes. He told himself she was just trying to be nice, and for the time being it averted his temper.

"Is there some sort of reason for this...intrusion? Because as far as I know I didn't invite you into my house let alone into my study."

"It's two pm tuesday, Mr. Lestrange. It's time for a party meeting."

As if it were some sort of signal, the rest of the party began to squeeze into his study. The first was a wiry man with a strong jaw, and extremely premature grey hair that was tied back into a bun of sorts. His brown robes, which perhaps would pass as shabby on another man, looked ruggedly worn on him. This was Cadmus Greyback, one of Fenrir's remaining progeny. While some men were weakend by their curse, Cadmus had taken to it like a fish to water. It only made him that much stronger, and that much more dangerous. The second was a stately man with combed back blonde hair. He had taken to muggle dominance rather well, and was now dressing himself in snazzy blue suits. It was Tom Malfoy. The rambunctious boy Regulus had grown up with was somewhere in there under all that overt dignity, but right now was nowhere to be found. As everyone began to filter in, they took seats in the plush green chairs around a dark wood coffee table. On that coffee table was Regulus' pride and joy. It was a map. A map that listed all potential allies, resources, and chance of recruitment. All of this by geographic location.

"Cadmus." Regulus acknowledged with a nod. "Nice suit, Tom. Very...modern. Where's Troy?"

"Late, as usual." Tom said, examining his fingernails, "What a suprise, right?" he added sarcastically after a pause

Sensing the room's rising tension, Audrey Potter jumped up with an offer to make tea and skuttled out of the room. She did make rather good tea, when she could get all the ingredients together without accidentally breaking something.

"So how is Troy, anyway?" Cadmus asked, slouching down in his chair casually, "Has he actually made any good wands yet? Or are we just pouring our campaign funds into a black hole? And where's Moody?"

"Glad you asked!" Regulus exclaimed as he removed a stack of parchment from a red chair so he could sit down. "So the shortage of wands has been growing exponentially. War is a clumsy businsess and more than ever are getting broken. Troy has thus far been unable to produce wands of the caliber we need. It seems that a real natural touch is needed for this kind of craft. I pulled a couple of strings and managed to find a paper trail that supposedly leads us to Ollivander's last remaining relative. We know that Ollivander Junior is residing in a muggle boarding school named Hawksi Prep, located in north-eastern United States. Most unfortunately my paper trail has yet to point out exactly which student is the one we're looking for. So I've sent Moody under cover as a student to see if he can hunt down and retrieve someone who can do the job that Troy can't. He's been unsuccesful thus far, but at least we're making progress."

"Progress? Hrmph." Cadmus crossed his arms and lowered his brows slightly "I suppose you could call that progress."

Regulus clenched his jaw and tried to keep his mouth shut. His caffeine-ridden nerves were almost shot, putting his naturally quick temper even closer to the surface. Tom, sensing his darker cousin's stress, tried to divert their attention to something else.

"What's this map here, Reg?" Malfoy asked, prodding Regulus' masterpiece with a long pale finger. "How come we weren't in on this bit of stunning cartography? No wonder you've barely slept in three days."

Things have a way of going from tolerably uncomfortable to far over the line in split seconds. Audrey Potter, having finished the tea, was carrying the tray into the room. In an exemplary display of Murphy's Law, what can go wrong will go wrong, the lanky redhead slipped in the pile of papers that Arcturus Moody's owl had knocked over earlier. With a crash of ceramics that seemed amplified in the silence it occured in, the entire pot of tea and every cup went down in a flurry of broken china. A rain of milky brown tea splattered across Regulus' map. Instantly the blue ink began to run. For the briefest of moments, everything paused. Then, like the china, everything came crashing down.

Regulus jumped to his feet, practically quivering.

"You.....you..." he stuttered, staring at his ruined work

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" Audrey began to repeat hurriedly, as she pulled herself back to her feet. "Here, let me fix it."

Before anyone could stop her she'd pulled out her wand, murmured a spell, and did her best to repair the damage. The soggy map went up in flames. Tom flicked his wand near instantly to magic away the fire, but it was too late. The thing was clearly beyond repair. Much like the situation.

"You useless...." Regulus was so angry he couldn't even finish the sentence the first time. "You useless _squib_! The Longbottoms were absolutely right! The only thing you're good for is standing by my side like some sort of trophy or figurehead so we get support from your grandfather's supporters. You are at your most helpful when you sit down and shut up, because every time you try and do something you ruin it. "

Cadmus was standing in front of him in split seconds. The werewolf stared down his slightly hooked nose at Regulus for a few moments looking murderous, before satisfying himself by poking him viciously in the chest.

"Don't you _ever_ talk to my fiance like that again." Cadmus practically spat at Regulus "I'm happy to let you prance through your high-society gatherings and fundraisers with her by your side like some sort of ornament so you can gather more support. You two make the perfect pair, don't you? The grandaughter of the great Harry Potter with the legacy of the feared but revered Lestrange family. Ha! I know exactly what you do. You say you don't encourage it, but do you ever stop them? The rumors, that you two are _involved_? Trust me, I allow you to get your twisted bit of publicity not because I like you in the slightest. If I believed one of those bastards over in the Ministry could actually benefit the war effort in the slightest I would be at their side in a heartbeat. The only reason we're here is because you are a last resort. A word of advice? A man of your....small stature....should try to avoid making enemies."

With that, Cadmus Greyback grabbed Audrey by the elbow and swept her from the study before she could protest.

"Way to go, cousin" Tom said, "Do you honestly believe you can win the election if you can't even win over your own campaign supporters?" before smoothly standing up to stride from the room.

Regulus, in the dark emptiness of his horrificly messy study, sat down with his dark curls hanging over his eyes. That's how Troy Ollerton found him when he finally showed up: head in his hands with the tendrils of his smoking map curling about the room.


End file.
